anticipation for precipitation
by hypotheticalfanfic
Summary: Rain, cigarettes, a fit of the giggles, and a pop song. Arthur x Eames


It's raining, and Arthur's cigarette is in danger of going out, and he's pissed at Eames. Contrary to popular belief, he's not always pissed at Eames. Not all the time. Not even most of the time, really. But sometimes Eames does this thing where he acts stupid to get people to do things for him, and drives Arthur up the wall. Because Eames is not stupid, far from it, not with anything but numbers, and instead of showing his skills, Eames plays and dabbles and cajoles other people into doing extra shit for him, all the while getting his own shit done quickly and precisely and acting like it's all an accident.

So now, tonight, in some shitty part of London full of chavs and druggies and cheap-ass alcohol that tastes like shit, Arthur is outside, in the rain, trying desperately to finish this cigarette and go home, because he'd give anything to be smoking on his own porch with Eames instead of out here alone. And really, it's Eames's fault he's out here anyway, because despite having plenty of first-hand knowledge about pubs and poker, the forger managed to con Dom into sending Arthur out to scout a setting for a job. Arthur'd glared at Eames, his patented _you and I will have a discussion about this when we get home_ glare, and as usual Eames had just winked and went on with business.

And so here Arthur stands, freezing and wet and pissed off and dying for a goddamn cigarette, while Eames is probably cozy at home with the dog, playing video games and drinking. Arthur could shoot someone, really, he's so angry. His pocket is buzzing, too, and that doesn't help because it's almost certainly Dom asking stupid questions that Eames already knows the answers to, like, "Wallpaper?" and shit, and Eames _knows_ that, knows it cold, and Arthur resents getting sent out to research shit that someone already knows.

But it's not Dom, it's a text from Eames, and it's a stupid joke about being cold and lonely, and Arthur responds with something bitchy and instantly regrets it. When Eames doesn't respond immediately, Arthur knows he fucked up. Heaves a sigh, drops the cigarette — what good was it trying to smoke in a downpour, honestly — and goes back into the pub. Working will take his mind off it, and he'll figure out a way to apologize to Eames later. Arthur plays a few more hands, carefully winning just enough to get out without a fuss, and walks back out into the rain, turning his collar up against the drips.

He doesn't see Eames until he runs right into him, smack dab in the middle of the street, like something from a shitty rom-com Eames would rent and gush over like an idiot until Arthur eventually gave in and watched it with him. The forger is holding Arthur's favorite umbrella above his head, and dry as a bone, of course. And Arthur should really still be mad about the whole getting-conned-into-doing-this-unnecessary-research thing, but the sight of Eames with an umbrella and a smile shoos all other thoughts out of his head.

Well, maybe not _all_other thoughts: when he kisses Eames, he makes sure to press himself tightly against Eames, leaving a silhouette of damp on Eames's comfortable clothes. The way Eames laughs against the kiss when he realizes what Arthur's doing? That's just a bonus, really.

When they break the kiss, Eames is still laughing. "What's so funny, asshole?" Arthur's smiling, there's no malice, and Eames won't stop. "What?"

"I— you won't get it," Eames chokes out between chuckles. "It's nothing, Arthur, don't—"

"What, Eames, come on, just tell me."

He's still laughing as he starts to sing, a popular song, one Arthur thinks he might actually know. When he gets to "umbrella-ella-ella," Eames dissolves into uncontrollable giggles, laughing so hard he nearly drops the umbrella.

Arthur's hand-eye coordination saves them both from getting soaked. "Not as funny as you think it is, Eames." Arthur tries to look unamused; he's foiled by a crinkle in his cheeks.

"Bugger off, Arthur, it's hysterical," Eames finally says, gasping back the last few laughs. Somehow the rain has gotten worse in those few minutes, and they can't get a cab, and Arthur is even more tempted than usual to just hijack a car.

"You can't carjack someone, Arthur, that's against the law. And rude."

"I'd pay them once we got there, Eames, I'm not a thief."

But the tube isn't that far away, and Eames keeps breaking into tiny fits of giggles and it's strangely endearing and utterly adorable. And besides, walking with Eames is always nicer than walking alone.

"Did you know it was going to rain?"

"It's London, love, it's always going to rain." Eames peers up at the umbrella over their heads. "But you can stand—"

"Not a word, Eames, and it's mine anyway." Arthur shakes his head, splattering Eames with a few stray raindrops. "And I'm still pissed at you about the research thing, you know."

"I know, love." Eames scrubs at the now-damp side of his face with his free hand, then gestures to the outline of Arthur's wet form on his own otherwise-dry clothes. "I think you've made it clear."

"So we're good, then?"

"Arthur, you know I took an oath to st-sti-stick," and Eames is laughing again, howling, really, and Arthur can't hold back his own laughter anymore. As they descend into the tube, Eames shakes out the umbrella, still laughing, and Arthur braces himself against the wall, his whole body shaking.

"It's not that— not that funny, Eames, you—" a gasp for air between helpless giggles, "must be the cold, I'm just freaking out."

"Whatever you say, Arthur," Eames wipes his eyes, straightens from the crouch he'd fallen into. "Whatever you say."

Arthur pulls him in for a kiss then, pressed against the wall, wet clothes and umbrella and giggles all forgotten, because the song is silly and cheesy but it's suddenly strangely true, too, and Arthur would normally scoff at that, but in this laughing wet moment he can't deny a flush of sentiment at the idea of Eames and him and that song.

So five minutes later, when the moment's over and they're back to normal, Arthur's merciless teasing is ever so slightly softened. And Eames, in the future, does his best to keep Arthur from having to do the work Eames pawns off on other people. And the umbrella sits quietly in the corner, occasionally provoking a fit of giggles in one or both of them.


End file.
